


A Certain Kind of Loneliness

by accidentallyanoctopus



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Abuse, Gen, M/M, Trans Male Character, backstory for my rp character, genderfeels and dysphoria, just growing up things in general, like both domestic abuse and child abuse, scout gives sniper the warm fuzzies, scout is a trans man too, sniper's adoptive dad is also a piece of shit, writing experiment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallyanoctopus/pseuds/accidentallyanoctopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Men are cruel, but they can also be kind. Especially when they rip that loneliness right out of your bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Kind of Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my name is Milo Ray and I have too many Sniperfeels.

People are cruel. No, not people, men. Men are cruel. Men are vicious and unpredictable and you have to be careful around them. That's what you learn at a very young age, from your father's words and his fist holding the belt. That's what you learn when he slaps your mother, grabs her chin, and stares deep into her eyes as he threatens her with even more violence.

Children are cruel as well, you discover once you enter school. They're all so much stronger than you, causing you to take refuge in trees to escape the bullying that even the girls perpetrate. The teachers are no help, silent witnesses to their students' crimes. You spend most of the days either hiding or helplessly confused by the coursework.

Nature is also cruel, but, unlike your father or your teachers and classmates, it is fair. It takes no sides, no prisoners. Nature is your escape, the red hills and deserts stretching in all directions. It makes you feel a certain kind of loneliness, almost addictive in its solitude and promises of safety. You learn to detect tracks, snare rabbits and birds, tell the coming weather by the smell of the air. There are dreams of escaping into the wild, living like the bushmen, but then who would protect your mother? You have no doubt he'd kill her given half a chance.

The worst part begins around the age of 12, when you begin to realize that there are certain parts of your body that don't really belong there; lumps and holes where there should be other things. And the blood- oh, so much blood and pain. If you were out in the wild, you'd be an easy target for any predator: a dingo, a saltwater crocodile, a giant constrictor. You try to hide your chest with bandages, but it only serves to make breathing difficult. While the other girls are wearing dresses and curling their hair, you're stealing your father's trousers and keeping your hair short as possible, loathing every inch of your body. And that's when you begin to realize that you're not a girl at all.

Your mother tries to understand, bless her heart, but you know that she never truly will. You'll always be Jill Elizabeth Mundy to her, not Mick Theodore Mundy. She signs you up for archery and rifle lessons, doesn't comment when you show up to breakfast wearing a man's shirt and pants. Your father just glares from across the table; he knows that you could shoot a mouse from 300 feet away. He's nearly intimidated by you now, and it feels so fucking great.

You leave home at 17, but not before leaving your second-favorite rifle in the hands of your mother, with explicit instructions on how to use it and when. She keeps telling you she would never need it, but you both know that's not really true. You don't stop driving until you're across the continent in Sydney. You never once look back.

Turns out there's a plenty of jobs for a man of your skills, even in the city, and with a forged ID, there's nothing in your way this time. You dabble in and out of a few: law enforcement, pest control, tour guide, animal worker, until your unique aptitude for ranged weaponry is noticed by those who are willing to pay for a bullet through someone's skull. You become a bounty hunter, an assassin. The lone gunman lifestyle suits you- you've never been much of a people person, it's out of doors most often, and it's challenging enough to keep you from growing complacent.

Sniping becomes enough to pay for things besides the absolute essentials, things like surgery and treatments to help you feel more comfortable in your own skin. And it's not like your employers care about your transgender status; if it doesn't involve your level of skill or your willingness to work, it's off the table and not even close to an issue. And goddamn if you're not skilled. Your years of escaping your father by hiding the desert have paid off, making your senses keen and your intrinsic knowledge of wild spaces invaluable. You're patient enough to wait hours, even days, for a target to move into position. And in the rare cases where your target isn't killed by a single shot to the head, you're ready and willing to finish the job with a knife or pistol.

You try to keep in touch with your mother as best you can, but it's difficult due to your erratic schedule and your father's constant interference. He doesn't understand your profession or your lifestyle, doesn't even attempt to. Your phone conversations with him usually end abruptly with you slamming the phone down in rage. And it doesn't help that your mother keeps asking if you've “settled down” yet. Honestly, neither women nor men have ever caught your eye, physically or emotionally. You're content with your certain kind of loneliness, your life of solitude.

Your job eventually takes you across the world to the United States, where you hunt down both criminal lowlifes and corrupt politicians. Until one day in early 1968, when the phone at the motel you're staying at begins to ring. It's an assistant of one Redmond Mann, heir of Mann Co. and stuck in a pointless war with his brother Blutarch. He's heard of your skills and wants to hire you as the replacement for his former sniper. You're undecided, but then he mentions the largest sum of money you've ever had a chance of earning, and before long you're in Teufort, New Mexico, and a proud member of the RED team.

Most of your teammates are like you- seasoned mercenaries more interested in honing their skills and making bank than they are with team bonding. Except for a single outlier in the form of a hyperactive, baseball bat-wielding annoyance by the nickname of Scout. The 21 year-old seems to immediately take a liking to you, following you around the base as he talks at near the speed of light and sitting next to you at dinner. You try and push him away in the beginning; you've cultivated your certain kind of loneliness, let it entangle you and root itself in your skin, and though it could be called a parasite, it's all you really know.

But, no matter how hard you push him away, the kid's like a bloody boomerang, flying back to you even when you make it clear you don't want him back. He anchors himself into your life, spreads out and gets comfortable on the defenses you've put up. And little by little, he begins to dismantle them. There's this warmth in your bones now when you're with him, this feeling of security that you thought could only be found in solitude. He gets you to open up, to reveal things about yourself that you'd never tell another person. And when he not only empathizes, but reveals his own, very similar secrets, that warmth turns into a burning, a feeling of companionship for once in your life.

You don't love him; love isn't the right word to describe how you feel about him. It's not friendship either, though. It's like this deep connection of souls that only happens when two very, very different people realize they have more things in common than they thought they did. Not to mention, the sex is absolutely fucking great. You still have that certain kind of loneliness, but it's less constrictive now, no longer a dull ache in the bottom of your belly. You're happy, if this is what happiness is. All you know is that you feel safe with him, and that even if men are cruel, they can also be kind. Especially when they have the ability to rip that loneliness right out of your bones.

 


End file.
